


The Years of Innocence

by shadowsamurai



Series: The Affinity Chronicles [1]
Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:56:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsamurai/pseuds/shadowsamurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Affinity Chronicles will show Boyd and Grace's relationship like you've never seen it before, starting from the very first time they meet, as children. The Years of Innocence will feature tales from the day they were born through to turning 10 years old. Join Boyd and Grace on the start of their rough journey of friendship, where the number of months until your next birthday is the most important thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He Never Cried

**Author's Note:**

> There will be at least 6 parts to the Chronicles, each uploaded as a separate chaptered story, so there will be a TBC as the end of the chapters, but the next doesn't follow on as such. Don't worry, it'll all make sense as we go on! As it is, I've tweaked the ages of Boyd and Grace, so there's only about 11 months difference between them, instead of 5 or 6 years. I also have no idea what Boyd and Grace's parents' were called, so I've tried to pick suitable names. And if it's OOC, well…it's difficult to get them to behave when they're this age!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing things for a while and I promise I'll put everything back exactly how I found it when I've finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;)

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

He looks so serious, and Grace can't understand why. Will he always look like that, even in five minutes time? Will he always have those little lines on his forehead, as though he's debating about frowning? Grace thinks he will, and she thinks it's a shame because he's cute, for a baby.

She turns as she's hears her name being spoken, and her parents smile at her. Grace knows she has her mother, Mary's smile, but she has her father, William's, eyes. They're blue like the small stone in her mother's engagement ring. Grace doesn't know that the stone is a sapphire; she doesn't even understand what the engagement ring is. She isn't even a year old yet, after all. But she knows that the thing on her mother's finger, her father's eyes, and hers, are all the same colour, and that's all that matter.

Grace glances at the people her parents are talking to. She knows they are called Joseph and Elizabeth, but that's all. She isn't really bothered. They're nice enough people, but Grace's interest lies with their baby son.

She turns her attention back to the baby in front of her. Her parents have told Grace that his name is Peter, and that she has to be nice to him because he's only a month old. But Grace is worried about Peter; he hasn't made a single noise since she's been there. He's just lying in his cot, still thinking about frowning. Grace decides it's time to be responsible and check that he's alright.

Being careful not to draw attention to herself, Grace leans forward a little and pokes Peter very gently with one chubby finger. He doesn't even so much as look at her, and now it's Grace's turn to frown. How dare he ignore her! Grace is far from impressed with this boy, so she pokes him again, a little harder this time.

Peter moves his gaze from the ceiling, where there's a blob he's been trying to understand, to the blob in front of him. Peter frowns properly now. He knows it isn't his mother and it certainly isn't his father. And *it* is poking him. Why?

Grace smiles in triumph as baby Peter looks at her and frowns. But Grace's small victory doesn't last long; Peter has decided that the blob on the ceiling is more interesting and he returns his gaze there.

Grace is about to wail when she realises that would draw attention to her, the very thing she's trying to avoid. So she settles for the most annoying thing she can think of; repetitive poking of Peter.

Peter shifts his gaze once more, focussing back on the blob in front of him. He thinks it's something similar to his parents, but nowhere near as nice. Even at one month old, Peter knows that if he makes some noise, the disturbance he finds himself enduring will stop. But somewhere in his tiny brain, he knows that is what the blob wants. So he settles for the best thing he can think of; staring.

Grace almost lets out a little giggle at how much fun she's having poking Peter in the side. That is until she notices him staring at her. She stops abruptly. She doesn't like his eyes; they look serious and unfriendly. Without warning, a little whimper escapes her lips.

"Grace, what are you doing?" William asks.

"No, darling, leave Peter alone," Mary tells her.

Grace looks as though she's about to cry. It's not fair! Peter was supposed to cry, not her.

Joseph smiles. "Don't worry, she isn't doing any harm."

Elizabeth nods her agreement. "Everybody says that they have never seen such a quiet baby."

"Really?" Mary replies.

Elizabeth nods again. "When Peter was born, he didn't cry once, and even now, when he's tired or hungry or needs his nappy changing, he doesn't make a sound."

William laughs a little. "How do you know when he wants something?"

"He frowns," Joseph replies. "See, just here." He runs a finger gently down the bridge of his son's nose, and Peter's frown is instantly replaced with a smile. "You see?"

Mary smiles and shakes her head. "Well I never."

Grace is now sulking. Someone could have told her that the baby didn't cry!

TBC


	2. First Steps

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Grace's expression is a touch disdainful. Peter has noticed she often looks like that in his company. Of course, he isn't old enough to know what it all means, but he is smart enough to realise that Grace's expression is always the same when she sees him. He doesn't mind really. He's more amused than anything else, because despite the small difference in their ages, to Grace, six months was obviously equivalent to sixteen years. Or maybe sixty, Peter thinks.

But none of it matters. Not today. Today, Peter's small face is twisted in concentration for the task that he has set before himself. He learnt to crawl fairly quickly. He can now move speedily around the floor, or at least it seems fast to him. He notices his father always seems to have trouble catching him, which just adds to the fun of crawling. Today is the next step for Peter, literally; today he will take the *first* step. He has already pulled himself into an upright position, but he felt as if his chubby little legs wouldn't hold his weight. It was an odd feeling, that wobbly sensation, and when he fell down, Peter didn't cry or laugh. He just sat there solemnly, small brow knitted in a frown as he tried to work out what he had done wrong.

Grace is watching Peter as he manoeuvres himself round to the nearest table. She watches as his stubby fingers grip the edge and he pulls himself up. She waits, impatiently, for him to fall back down. She feels very put out when he doesn't. Grace carries on watching, because there isn't really much else to do. And she will get great satisfaction when Peter finally does fall over, because she knows it's inevitable.

She's very disappointed when he doesn't. He doesn't stumble or fall at all, and that makes her want to cry. It just wasn't fair! Peter walked carefully, slowly, but it was still walking. And it was his first attempt as well. Grace's bottom lip begins to tremble, and she starts to look around for something to throw, to knock him off balance. If she can make Peter fall over, it would make everything better.

But then Peter's mother comes to the doorway, smiling in pure joy as she watches her son totter around the room. Grace goes back to sulking. She's good at that. It wasn't fair, none of it. Not fair because she had only learnt to walk a few days ago, and she was so much older than Peter. Why did he have to be smarter than her? She sat glaring at him, even though he never acknowledged her stares. But he knew. He knew she was always watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake, waiting so she could laugh at him. Peter didn't mind. He didn't feel that Grace was being horrible to him; quite the opposite, in fact. He felt like she was watching over him, like he was protected, and that was why he walked without falling, but Grace would never understand that.

Of course, why should she? After all, whenever Grace wasn't paying attention, Peter always watched her.

FIN


	3. Cops and Robbers

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Grace didn't like going round to the Boyds' house. Joseph and Elizabeth were nice enough to her, but their son was so serious that it gave Grace the shivers. His eyes were always dull and lifeless, she wondered if he was really a zombie in disguise. Peter, his name was, and Peter had never once smiled. And at six years old, smiling was one of the most important things in life, next to candy and sweets.

Peter didn't like Little Foley coming round. He knew she was called Grace, but Little Foley suited her better. He was polite to her for his parents' sake, and he always asked her to play with him, but really, all he wanted was for her to go away. She had too much energy, and she always wanted to play something different than he did. Peter always wanted to be quiet when Grace came around, even though he knew that made him 'strange', whatever that meant. He didn't care; he was happy enough.

"Hello, Peter."

Inside, Peter scowled. While that was his name, he hated Grace calling him that. "Hello, Grace," he replied politely. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you. How are you?"

"Fine."

"Good." Grace tried not to shake her head. Didn't Peter know how to conduct a proper conversation?

"Would you like to play a game?" Peter asked.

Grace sighed. "I suppose so."

"How about policemen and villains?"

Grace wrinkled her little nose. "Do we have to?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, we do," he said firmly, and Grace sighed again.

"Fine."

"Good. I'll be the policeman, you can be the robber."

"I don't want to be a robber!" Grace protested loudly.

"But you have to be because when I'm older, I'm going to be a policeman," Peter explained as patiently as he could.

Grace's bottom lip began to tremble. "Are you saying that when I get older, I'm going to be a robber?"

Peter just stared at her. Why did girls have to be so silly? "No, I didn't say that."

But by now, Grace was crying. "I'm not going to be a bad person when I grow up!" she wailed. "I don't want to play with you any more!"

Peter looked around, a little panicked by what was going on. He had no idea how to solve the problem, but then he remembered something, and without thinking, he gave Grace a kiss on the lips. It seemed to work; for all of about five seconds, she was quiet.

But suddenly she began to cry even louder and then she ran off. Peter furrowed his little brow in confusion. It always worked for his parents; whenever his mother was sad, his father would kiss her and she would smile again. Why did Grace have to be so awkward?

TBC


	4. Trick or Treat

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Peter checked his costume again. It was rough around the edges, homemade of course, but to him it was perfect. The black bin bag, ripped and opened out, flowed from his shoulders like a cape, and his face was covered with make-up to change his complexion from pale to completely white. Coupled with his dark eyes, it gave Peter a haunted look, one he enjoyed.

He sighed.

If only he was a real vampire.

"Come along, darling. Don't keep Grace waiting," his mother, Elizabeth, called.

"Yes, mother."

Peter left the house with his bag empty, hoping that only an hour of trick-or-treating would give him a full bag of candy. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy being out, or spending time with Grace; now she was a little older, he had concluded she wasn't all *that* bad, for a girl anyway. It was just he didn't really enjoy being with other children. Peter liked his own company, and that made him strange.

But not to Grace.

Grace's father, William, opened the door. "Oh no, a vampire! Somebody save me!" he said dramatically.

Peter grinned openly; he knew he wasn't that scary, but it was a great compliment for someone who was eight and three-quarters. "Thank you, Mr Foley. Is Grace ready?"

"I think so, yes. The two of you should be able to scare plenty of sweets out of people tonight," William replied, smiling.

"Hello, Peter," Grace said as she appeared at her father's side.

Peter knew he was staring, and he knew it was rude, but he couldn't help it. Grace's costume was also homemade, and just as rough as his was, but she looked so different. So….

"Hello, Grace," Peter managed to reply. "Shall we go?"

"Bye, Daddy." Grace stood up on her tiptoes and William bent down so she could kiss him on the cheek.

They made quite a pair as they walked down the streets, Peter as the vampire, Grace as a witch, and within half an hour, their bags were almost overflowing with sweets.

"More successful than last year," Peter stated.

Grace nodded. "Definitely. Let's hope next year will be even better."

"Stop!"

Peter looked up, unimpressed. In front of him were a group of children, all wearing masks, and the one who had spoken was dressed as Frankenstein.

"Yes?" Peter replied.

Frankenstein held his hand out. "Give me all your sweets! Now!"

Instinctively, Peter stepped in front of Grace, protecting her. "I don't think so."

Frankenstein stared. "What?"

"I said no. Now if you'll excuse us."

"No, I won't!" Frankenstein shouted. "Give me your bags, NOW!"

"No."

Frankenstein yelled and launched himself at Peter, but he sidestepped him and Frankenstein fell to the floor. Getting up, he lunged at Grace's bag of treats.

Peter suddenly saw red. He swung his fist hard and connected with Frankenstein's head. The other boy yelled in pain and moved away. Frankenstein's friends came to his rescue, but Peter incapacitated them all, kicking and punching at them with all the strength his little body could muster.

After what seemed like an eternity, everything became still. Peter was breathing heavily and he turned in a circle slowly, checking none of Frankenstein's friends wanted a second round.

"Grace!" he shouted, dropping to his knees next to the young girl.

"I'm fine, Peter," she replied, and then looked sheepish. "I slipped."

Peter smiled. "If that's all."

Grace nodded as he helped her up. "That's all." She bit her lip. "You were very brave."

"Thank you."

She then kissed his cheek briefly. "Shall we go?" she asked, picking their bags up.

TBC


	5. Finders Keepers

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

At nearly ten years old, all any child wanted - any boy - was a pet.

But not just any pet.

No, it had to be a dog.

A puppy.

Unfortunately for Peter, Grace also wanted a puppy. He said it was just because he wanted one. She said she was older and had wanted one for longer.

Peter sighed as he remembered how they'd fought about it, over who had wanted a puppy first and who wanted one more. And how he had found himself without his best friend suddenly. On his birthday, no less.

He remembered one day, when they weren't arguing, they had gone for a work down by the river. They noticed a bag in the stream, and it seemed to be making noise. Peter, being the strongest, climbed down the banking to retrieve it. He hauled it out of the water and carried it back up, handing it to Grace as carefully as he could, but it was difficult. It was very, very heavy, and his feet were slipping on the grass.

There was a sudden cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, one that Peter would become very familiar with when he grew older.

"Don't open the bag, Grace!" he shouted.

There was a strange note in Peter's voice, and so Grace nodded. "Alright." Instead of looking in the bag, she put it down carefully on the ground and went to help her friend.

Peter looked at his trousers and groaned. His mother would kill him if she saw the dirt, but maybe he could explain that it was for a good cause.

"Grace, look away please," Peter said politely.

"I'm older than you," Grace retorted instantly. "I'm not afraid."

Peter sighed. "Why do you always have to argue with me?"

"Why do you always have to treat me like…like a child?" Grace asked.

"Fine, if you're going to be stupid about this," Peter snapped and ripped open the bag before Grace could utter another word.

She squealed and turned away when she saw what was inside. Five dead puppies, only a few weeks old. Peter just stared, unsure what else to do. He felt sickened and disgusted, but suddenly he felt a sharp pain as Grace hit him.

"Why didn't you leave the bag where it was? Why did you have to show me…that?" she snapped. "This is all your fault!"

"My fault? I told you not to look!" Peter shouted back.

"Don't blame me!" Grace said, bursting into tears.

Peter was about to say something when he heard a noise again. He turned and looked in the bag; one of the puppies was moving. "Grace! Look! Look at that! One's still alive."

Gently, Peter lifted the puppy out, wrapping it in his shirt the best he could. It felt cold and it was probably hungry, but Peter decided he wouldn't let it die. This one would live.

"Here, let me hold it. I'm warmer than you are," Grace said.

Reluctantly, Peter handed the puppy over. "I always wanted a puppy," he muttered absently.

"I want one as well," Grace replied hurriedly.

Peter looked at her. "Yes, but it's my birthday next week, and anyway, I found it. Finders keepers."

"You're horrible!" Grace wailed, and she started to run off.

"Grace! Wait!" Peter almost started after her, but then he remembered the puppies in the bag. Unsure what to do, he picked the bag up and headed home.

His mother, Elizabeth, was at the door when Peter arrived home. "Where have you been? Look at your clothes! And what are you carrying?"

Quickly, he explained what had happened. "Grace took the live one home," he finished.

Elizabeth's expression changed. "Oh, Peter, what a sweet thing to do, letting Grace keep the puppy."

Peter looked shocked. That wasn't what had happened at all, but now he couldn't change things. He had to go along with what his mother had assumed. "It was the right thing to do," he said stiffly. "I need to wash, Mother. I'm sorry I dirtied my clothes."

Elizabeth kissed his head. "That's quite alright, darling. Off you go."

And now it was Peter's birthday. His parents had wanted to throw a party; he hadn't wanted a fuss. The only person he wanted to see still wasn't talking to him.

He sighed again. It seemed to help.

"Hello."

Peter turned slowly, surprised. "Hello, Grace. How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you. How are you?"

"Very well."

"Really?"

Peter shrugged. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"It's your birthday and…you're alone," Grace said quietly.

"I like being alone."

Grace shifted slightly, and that was when Peter noticed she was carrying a basket. "You shouldn't be alone." Suddenly she thrust the basket towards him. "Here. This is for you. Happy birthday, Peter."

He took the basket and as soon as it was securely in his hands, Grace ran off. There was a card on the top, and Peter opened that first. *'Finders keepers,'* it read. The basket then yelped.

He opened it quickly and there sat a puppy. It was a little fatter than the last time Peter had seen it, and definitely happier. He petted it quickly, a grin almost splitting his face. Then he read the card again.

His grin grew. He wasn't alone any more.

FIN


End file.
